


carrying all the weight of your past

by thelemonisinplay



Series: verity richardson cinematic universe (vrcu) [5]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Birthday, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Reconciliation, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28898760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelemonisinplay/pseuds/thelemonisinplay
Summary: By the end of the day, they’ve sorted a basic plan: Dad’s birthday is on the Saturday, so they’ll get the train on the Friday and spend all weekend with him. It’s not a weekend he’s expecting Millie, and she’s going to drop in that she’ll be at an imaginary Guide camp so he won’t have any reason to expect her. Millie will get the train down from Barrow to Manchester, where Verity will meet her, and they’ll continue down to Fitton together.Verity & Millie scheme to surprise Douglas for his birthday... and have an important chat.
Relationships: Douglas Richardson & Verity Richardson
Series: verity richardson cinematic universe (vrcu) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077494
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	carrying all the weight of your past

**Author's Note:**

> every time i add to this i stray further and further from canon. love to be wildly self indulgent for my audience of three <3
> 
> title from muna's i know a place.

Verity’s on her first date with a girl when Millie texts.

It’s only coffee. It had seemed like the least threatening introduction to the lesbian dating scene: daytime, quick escape, no expectation to drink. It’s always been her preferred first date anyway; she’s always been a bit funny around drunk men for reasons she’s never cared to examine.

The girl in question – or woman, Verity supposes, though despite having been a legal adult for nine years now she’s still not used to thinking of her peers in such terms – is a friend of a friend. Verity had found an inning in her uni group chat to drop in her coming out, casual and conversational, and they all knew her well enough to keep it that way. Most of them had clicked the heart react. Benjy had, a week or so later, messaged her privately asking if she wanted to meet his friend Olivia who was new to the Manchester dating scene.

And here they are. Verity, hand wrapped tightly around her latte to disguise the nerves she resents feeling. Olivia, nibbling at a chocolate muffin.

It’s fine. Olivia seems fine. Verity’s painfully aware that she has no real idea what she’s doing here. Are first dates meant to be better than fine? None of hers have been, but then she’s never actually been out with somebody who had the potential to be better. But then dates are weird, aren’t they? It’s a lot of pressure to put on one event. Maybe they’ll find out they’re destined for each other on the second date. Is that how it works?

Verity sort of hopes not. She doesn’t think she wants to sit through another tedious hour or two of trying to get to know somebody, even somebody who’s sweet and funny and generous as Olivia’s already proven herself to be.

She’s almost relieved, then, when Millie texts.

“Sorry,” says Verity, glancing down at her phone. “It’s my little sister, she’s only fourteen.”

_are you doing anything on 5 th nov?? <3_

Dad’s birthday.

Also Bonfire Night, of course, which has been ruined for her since she was thirteen years old by the haunting guilt that comes with single-handedly tearing apart your own family.

But maybe not, this year.

Verity leaves the text until she manages to escape the date, politely noncommittal about seeing Olivia again. She’s wondering if maybe she should just give up on trying to date. For now, at least. She’s maybe just not ready yet.

 _No plans yet, that’s weeks away!_ , Verity texts back.

_great :) i was thinking of surprising dad with a visit, i never get to see him on his birthday!!!_

_mum’s FINALLY decided to let me get the train down to his by myself so he doesn’t have to drive all the way up anymore too so that won’t even be a problem_

Millie is a much faster texter than Dad.

By the end of the day, they’ve sorted a basic plan: Dad’s birthday is on the Saturday, so they’ll get the train on the Friday and spend all weekend with him. It’s not a weekend he’s expecting Millie, and she’s going to drop in that she’ll be at an imaginary Guide camp so he won’t have any reason to expect her. Millie will get the train down from Barrow to Manchester, where Verity will meet her, and they’ll continue down to Fitton together.

Verity’s going to call Dad’s boss to check his work schedule and beg her not to put him down for anything. They’d thought about getting Millie to call – a teenage girl asking to see her father on his birthday pulls the heartstrings somewhat better than a grown adult – but in the end Verity decides that, as an adult, she can simply offer to pay to keep him off if nothing else works. They’ve both heard stories of how little money MJN has, after all.

They’re both going to look into feasible weekend activities. Verity’s initial ideas – West End shows, meals at nice restaurants, even the cinema – all rely on Dad driving them out of Fitton or expensive train journeys. And they don’t really want to make him drive all the way to London on his _birthday_. The main point for the moment is that they’re going to surprise him with their presence.

Mum calls at lunchtime on Monday, while Verity’s filling out an annual leave request over a sandwich.

“Hi, Mum,” she says, “everything alright?”

“Just calling to say hello,” says Mum cheerily. “It’s been ages since we spoke. How are you?”

It has been a while. Verity’s not really sure how to interact with her mother these days – things have been strange between them for a while, and everything’s been a little odd for Verity since she’s taken steps to reconnect with her father.

“Not bad,” says Verity, because it’s easier than explaining. “Just booking some time off work. Millie wants us to surprise Dad for his birthday, so …”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!”

“Don’t _tell_ him, Mum.” This, really, is why things have always been weird: Verity stopped talking to her father while Mum didn’t. They stayed friends, even while their daughter tried to pretend Dad didn’t exist. Of course, to Mum’s credit she never once tried to push Verity’s boundaries and force her to see her father, but it’s still … a lingering strangeness.

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart!”

“You could … drop in some questions about his birthday, though,” says Verity, thoughtfully. “See if he’s got any plans before we get to booking anything. I’m going to call his boss and request that he gets the weekend off, so he shouldn’t be working.”

The conversation shifts back to day to day life after that, Verity not particularly ready to try to put words to her relationship with her father as it stands.

“What about you, darling, are you seeing anybody new?” is where that line of conversation leads to, after Mum’s detailed how an elderly neighbour tried to invite her on a date last week. Verity really ought to have suspected that.

“Oh. No, not really.” She pauses – assesses the chances of Mum making things weird (limited). Glances around the room to make sure nobody’s in listening distance – she’s not _quite_ ready to be out to the entire office yet; Brenda in finance will bombard her with questions if she hears. “I had a date with someone the other week, but I don’t think I’ll see her again. I think I need a break.”

There’s a pause, and Verity feels nothing but vague discomfort as she tries to work out if Mum’s picked up on the pronoun.

“Her?” Mum says, eventually. Calmly. Conversationally. Exactly how Verity had hoped she’d react; exactly how Mum’s reacted to every revelation Verity’s provided over the past twenty-seven years. Perfect.

“Yeah,” says Verity. “Turns out my issue with Adam wasn’t so much _Adam_ as …”

“Men?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” says Mum. “You should talk to your dad, when you’re ready. He’d like that.”

“Oh. Yeah, we did, actually, it sort of … came up a while ago.” Well, it’s not _entirely_ a lie. Verity’s just not sure Mum won’t take it personally if she hears that Dad was the first person she came out to, after all those years of silence.

Mum sounds delighted, though, over the phone; thrilled that she and Dad have worked through thirteen years of issues to become as close as they’d been when Verity was nine. Verity doesn’t correct her. It’s nice that someone believes in them.

The conversation ends with Verity’s lunch break, so she brings the remains of her sandwich back to her desk with her and tries not to get crumbs in her keyboard.

By the end of the week, the annual leave request is approved, Mum’s called back with the information that Dad has no birthday plans as yet, and Verity’s got through to Dad’s boss and managed to talk her into giving him the weekend off for free.

“He’s fixed four different crises this week, I suppose I’ll allow him his birthday off,” is what his boss _actually_ says over the phone, which is both nice and somewhat unsettling to hear. From Dad’s stories, this workplace is ridiculously chaotic and he’s constantly solving their unnecessary problems. Verity had assumed he was merely exaggerating, but this phone call has single-handedly proved her wrong.

“Thank you so much, Mrs Knapp-Shappey,” is what Verity says instead, smooth and professional. “My sister and I appreciate it.”

“Please, call me Carolyn,” says his boss. So Verity does.

All that’s left now is to figure out some weekend activities – which can probably ignored in favour of letting Dad choose, but it’ll be nice to have some options to give him – and to book the train tickets.

Verity’s aged out of the 16-25 railcard by now, which makes cost an imperative; she’s not earning any more than she was before it expired. Unfortunately, the cheapest tickets on that particular date are in the morning – fine for Verity, who’s booked the day off, but not for Millie who’s supposed to be at school.

“Just call me in sick,” says Millie when Verity phones to troubleshoot this particular problem. “I’ll tell Mum I’m going straight after school so she won’t expect me home, the school won’t expect me if you tell them I’m sick, we’re sorted.”

“Your mum already hates me,” Verity argues, but half-heartedly. She wants the morning with her sister more than she wants Emily to like her, and it’s not like Millie makes a habit of skipping school – she’s a model student, charming and sweet with good grades and good attendance. Which makes it easy, really. Nobody’s going to question Millie Richardson taking a sick day.

Verity wakes early on the Friday. She doesn't have to be anywhere til gone eleven, but she's awake for seven thirty anyway. Millie's train leaves Barrow just after nine, and Verity wants to make sure she's okay for the journey.

She's sure her sister will be fine, of course. She survived most of the first thirteen years of her life without Verity – a fact which leaves an uncomfortable twinge of guilt every time Verity thinks about it. Everything with Dad’s got easier over time, less painful. They’re never going to be perfect, but they’re getting somewhere good. But Millie? That guilt is getting worse, if anything.

Phoebe's still asleep, so Verity gets in the shower while she has the opportunity. Dresses, eats breakfast with her hair air drying around her, checking her phone every thirty seconds to see if Millie's said anything yet.

Eight thirty. She finishes breakfast. Calls Millie’s school. Switches on the television, flicks through channels trying to find something that'll catch her attention, fails. Checks her bag, again, just to make sure she’s not missed anything important. It had been bad enough all those months ago when she'd gone on a whim and had had nothing with her; she'd had to get up early and run to the big Sainsbury’s in Fitton for some basics to get her through the weekend. She can’t very well do that twice.

She's got everything, though: spare charger, clothes, toiletries, pyjamas, notebook and pen, Dad’s present.

Millie texts at nine, to say that she's at the station. She's trying to look inconspicuous, apparently – of course, she’s a lone school-age girl travelling alone. Verity texts her a list of excuses in case anybody asks, though of course they won’t. Millie is less predisposed to carrying around a mental list of lies and excuses than Verity is.

She texts again at twelve minutes past to say that she's on the train, and it's leaving. Good. Only two more hours til Verity can join her.

Phoebe doesn't surface from her room until gone ten, and stares at Verity pacing the hallway for a good, long moment.

“This family stuff always leaves you very on edge,” she says eventually, stood in her pink polka-dot pyjamas, arms folded, frown on her face.

Verity shrugs.

“You can tell me about it if you want,” says Phoebe. “Like. You know. I assumed your dad was dead for _years_ because you never talked about him, and here you are going to see him for his birthday. I never even knew you had a sister til this year. So … you can talk about it.”

"Yeah, maybe next week," says Verity. She's piled up her things by the door, has been in her coat for ten minutes already, but has told herself she doesn't need to leave just yet. The station isn't far, Millie won't be arriving into it for almost an hour. But sitting coldly in the train station for ages seems less stressful than trying to explain thirteen years of guilt to Phoebe … and maybe she can pick up something to eat on the way. "I need to go."

"Okay," says Phoebe. "Well, have fun."

"And you," says Verity. Dan's coming round for the weekend, apparently, something Verity is fairly pleased to be missing out on. Not that she dislikes him, mind, but there’s something a little depressing about being around couples in your own home.

"Hi," says Millie cheerfully an hour or so later, hopping off the train and throwing her arms around Verity. It’s been almost a year since they've returned to each others' lives and Verity still isn't quite used to this, the openness of this fourteen-year-old girl who just hugs people when she feels like it. Still, Verity doesn’t have to remind herself to hug back anymore, which feels like progress.

"Hi," says Verity, into her sister's hair. Millie's still smaller than she is by a few inches, and perhaps always will be – Emily’s fairly small, after all. Verity had outgrown her before Millie was born.

"So," says Verity once they pull apart. "We've got twenty minutes before the train leaves, do you want a drink?"

They go to the Costa. Verity recognises the barista: pretty, undercut, rainbow pin. She doubts the barista recognises her – she can’t be the _only_ person who’s had an emotional breakdown in this spot – but they share a smile as she’s handing them their drinks, and there’s something comforting in that.

By the time they get out with their drinks, ten minutes have passed, so Millie and Verity hurry back to the concourse to find out which platform they need to head for.

They settle onto the train, taking window seats opposite each other with a table in the middle. Their drinks – a cappuccino for Verity, a hot chocolate for Millie – sit in front of them, surrounded by a pile of sugar sachets and a couple of Tesco meal deals Verity had picked up on her way.

They talk about the weekend, at first: they’ve still not made any particular plans yet beyond arranging to get to Fitton, because they’re trying to make sure it’s something that’s not too much hassle for Dad. They’ve both got a selection of options – Verity has a list of theatres in both London and Birmingham with ticket availability over the weekend; Millie has a list of restaurants Dad might enjoy. 

“It doesn’t feel very surprising to make him choose,” says Verity with a frown. It’s a point she’s raised before, but as she’s going to be the one paying for it – Millie’s contribution had extended to her train ticket and a birthday gift, and that was with help from Emily – she doesn’t feel confident to make that call. She doesn’t know him well enough, anymore.

“He’s going to be surprised that we show up at all.”

Verity can’t argue with that. But of course, she’s surprised him once already this year by reappearing in his life, repeating the same trick over and over and hoping it still works feels like it’s not quite enough.

“He still doesn’t know Mum lets me get the train on my own,” Millie continues cheerfully.

Verity watches her sister, softly, carefully. Fourteen years old. Verity at fourteen had been so different: oh, outwardly confident, of course, but never so candid; she’d changed schools at twelve and disappeared from her father’s life at thirteen and had danced around both topics with her friends for years, an expert in deflection. Just this morning Phoebe had reminded Verity that she’d assumed Verity’s father was dead for the first five years they knew each other.

Millie, so far as Verity can tell, just speaks what’s on her mind.

They pull into Macclesfield, and Verity takes another sip of her coffee. Lukewarm.

“I suppose I shouldn’t post a picture of this to Instagram,” says Millie, glancing down at her phone.

Verity laughs into her coffee. “Your mum would hunt me down and kill me.”

“And me,” says Millie fervently.

“Really?” Verity wonders, not for the first time, what it must be like to have grown up alone with Emily. She has only very vague memories of the woman, and she doesn’t much care to think about those, she can’t imagine what she’s like as a mother. And Verity can’t remember when the divorce had been exactly, but she’d still been living with Mum when she’d heard about it, still teenage, still furious. Millie would only have been little, probably not even at school yet.

“Oh, yeah. It would be a whole thing. _Your father and I work very hard to pay for your school_ , and then there’d be a twenty-minute lecture.”

Private school.

Verity hadn't known that.

It stings, though of course it shouldn’t – firstly because she’s twenty-seven years old, and secondly because she went to a very good grammar school, and once she’d settled in after that first, awkward term she’d proven herself bright and charming enough that, once again, both teachers and the other kids had liked her.

What Verity notices once she’s finished being self-involved is how matter-of-fact Millie’s being about it. Like she just expects to be told off. Verity had skipped school one day in Year Eleven, just because she never had before and she and a couple of friends thought they ought to have the experience, and _her_ mum had just laughed it off.

“Well, we’ll just have to make sure she doesn’t find out, then,” Verity says. Millie smiles, and Verity smiles back, desperately trying to ignore the bubble of guilt that’s constantly reminding her that she should’ve been here to look after her sister the whole time.

The train arrives into Fitton just after one, and careful detective work from Millie informs them that Dad’s getting on with some paperwork in the office. A follow-up selfie shows him sitting at his desk, and, over his shoulder, two of his colleagues sitting on the floor clutching apples and laughing.

“That place is _weird_ ,” says Verity, as they make their way to Fitton Airfield.

Happily, Dad’s just leaving when they arrive. He’s busy chatting away to that strange cheerful man Verity met last time she was here, so he doesn’t immediately notice them; but Millie naturally takes the opportunity to drop her bags and run to him.

“Millie?”

Verity watches with a grin as he takes in the fourteen-year-old girl who’s thrown herself at him, and then looks up to see her, ten feet away surrounded by overnight bags.

“Verity!”

“Hi, Dad.”

She doesn’t run to him like Millie, but once he’s detangled himself from his youngest daughter, he comes to her.

Squeezes her shoulder, tightly. Smiles. No hug, for which Verity is guiltily grateful.

“What are you both doing here? Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“Verity called in sick for me,” says Millie. “Don’t tell Mum, she thinks we’re coming tonight.”

“I didn’t give you your birthday weekend off just for fun, you know,” says a sharp voice from behind them. Carolyn Knapp-Shappey, who Verity vaguely remembers meeting and vividly remembers speaking to on the phone, is stood almost regally in front of the door to the portacabin that serves as MJN’s office.

“ _You_ were involved?”

“Only in that I agreed I’d keep you off any bookings for the weekend,” she says. “And that’s the only present you’re getting, Douglas, so don’t go hoping for a nice hotel room in Cairo next week.”

“I wouldn’t dare hope for such a thing anyway,” he says drily.

They say their goodbyes to Dad’s colleagues and head to the car, where Millie and Verity spend the journey filling Dad in on the details of their scheme.

“I did think it was odd that your mum called to enquire about my birthday plans,” said Dad as they pulled into his driveway.

“ _Mum_ called you?”

“ _My_ mum,” Verity clarifies.

They settle into the house slowly, Millie heading upstairs to unpack her things and retrieve Dad’s presents – undoubtedly buried at the bottom of her bag – while Verity gives Dad a hand preparing lunch.

“Thank you for coming,” says Dad, while Verity chops up an onion.

“It was all Millie’s idea,” she says breezily.

“Yes, but she couldn’t have orchestrated it without you.”

Verity throws a tiny smile over her shoulder at him. “I owe you both a favour.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” says Dad, dropping a hand on Verity’s arm so suddenly that she almost slices open her finger.

“I definitely owe Millie, though,” Verity says tightly. She puts the knife down and moves to wash her hands before the sharp onion tears come.

Dad says nothing to that, just watches her. He’s still there when Verity spins around, hands clean.

“What’s next, then? Carrots?”

“I’ve missed out on a lot of Millie’s childhood because Emily moved them up to Cumbria,” says Dad. “And I missed out on you –”

“Don’t,” says Verity. She wants to say that she spent years trying to force herself to forget about the two of them, wants to ask how to alleviate that guilt, wants to know how you go about making up for thirteen missed years. But even if she was one for confessions, she and Dad are both stumbling through that last one together. He’s not going to be able to give her any real advice. “Let’s just finish lunch.”

Half an hour later, they’re at the kitchen table, radio on softly in the background, lunch in front of them.

Verity tries not to think about the fact that she could’ve been doing this for years.

One of Millie’s restaurants wins Dad’s favour as the evening activity, so after an afternoon of unpacking and washing up and a couple of episodes of Millie’s favourite terrible reality TV show, they’re back in the car driving up to Coventry for dinner.

“We’ve got some ideas for the rest of the weekend, too,” says Millie from the back of the car. “We just weren’t sure which you’d prefer.”

“I’m sure they’re wonderful, darling, but I did have an idea myself,” says Dad. “There’s a fireworks display on Fitton Common tomorrow night, I thought we could go to that.”

Verity allows herself a smile. She’s avoided Bonfire Night as much as possible the past few years, allowing the day to be soured by a combination of guilt and a memory of Dad getting too drunk to drive them home from a fireworks display when she was twelve. They’d always gone together for his birthday, sometimes with Catherine or Emily or some friends, sometimes alone. And then she’d disappeared and pretended the day didn’t exist, to the point that she’d not even considered the idea when she and Millie were listing activities.

“I’ve not been to a fireworks display since you took me _years_ ago!” says Millie, excitement evident in her voice.

“That’s a yes from Millie, then,” says Dad fondly. “Verity, what do you think?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Definitely.”

By the time they get back to Dad’s after the meal, it’s nearing ten o’clock, and Verity is exhausted. Millie’s dozing off in the back, too, and only Dad seems anywhere near functional.

“I hear travel is tiring for passengers,” says Dad, as the girls head upstairs to bed.

“Weird really, seeing as all you do is sit down for a couple of hours,” says Verity. “Night, Dad. Night, Millie.”

She falls asleep quickly in Dad’s spare room, but finds herself wide awake what seems like just five minutes later. Checks her phone. Two o’clock. She lies awake for a little while before deciding that she’s probably not getting back to sleep anytime soon, and drags herself up. Maybe a hot chocolate will help.

The kitchen light is on when Verity gets downstairs. Did Dad forget to turn it off? She can’t say for sure whether that’s unlike him or not.

She steps in, and reaches for the kettle, and then spies a pyjama-clad figure huddled at the kitchen table. Millie. Clutching a mug of her own.

“Can’t sleep either?” says Verity.

Millie looks up, eyes ringed with dark circles. “No,” she says. “I’ve been awake about an hour.”

“I just woke up,” says Verity. She finishes putting together her drink, and contemplates joining Millie at the table, but – no. She wants something more comfortable. “I’m going to sit on the sofa, wanna come?”

They turn out the kitchen light and shuffle, quietly as possible, into the next room. It _is_ comfier on the sofa. They sit in silence for a little while, sleepily sipping at their drinks while huddled under a blanket from Millie’s room.

“I woke up to see Mum texted, asking about you,” says Millie eventually, and there’s a hint of caution in the way she says it, something Verity’s not really seen from Millie before.

“Still doesn’t trust me, then.” Verity isn’t surprised. She’s surprised, if anything, that _Millie’s_ taken to her so quickly, is almost glad her mum’s looking out for her there.

Almost.

She hasn’t forgotten how Emily used to goad Dad into arguments all those years ago.

Millie’s chewing on her lip in lieu of an answer, looking down at her mug.

“I don’t suppose I’d trust me if I was her,” offers Verity, slowly. It seems all she does these days is try to plaster over old, old wounds and hope that it fixes things.

“Did you really not talk to Dad for thirteen years?” Millie asks. It’s blunt. Honest, almost. It’s something Verity’s been trying to work out how to explain to her ever since she received that Facebook friend request all those months ago, but something she’s hidden away in favour of fixing things with Dad. Another regret to add to the pile.

“Yeah,” says Verity. She sips her hot chocolate just for something to do, somewhere to put her hands. This is a big story to tell, and she’s not sure how much of it is hers. But on the other hand, she owes it to Millie. “I … it’s complicated, and messy, and there’s no way to tell it that doesn’t make me look bad.”

“Everything’s complicated,” says Millie with a shrug. She’s looking straight at Verity now, wide eyed and more serious than Verity’s ever seen her. This is it, then.

Verity nods. “I was at a private school in Year Seven,” she starts. “Dad lost his job, couldn’t pay for school anymore, and then … I don’t know if the drinking started then, or if it just got bad enough for me to notice it, but he was drinking.”

“He always said that he thought the drinking ruined things,” says Millie softly.

Verity’s mouth goes a little dry. She knew Millie had known about her, obviously, but she’d never imagined they’d sat around discussing what had gone wrong. How much had he said to his youngest daughter? How much of Millie’s depths had Verity missed?

“Did he?”

“I used to ask him why I had a sister I’d never met. He said it was his fault.”

Verity can see the forced casualness on Millie’s face – she’s got that expression that Verity recognises from herself, the one she’s wearing in all the family photos that exist from when she was twelve. But Millie’s less practiced, Verity thinks; she speaks too fast, her eyes too shiny.

It’s for the best, really. A talent for hiding things has never been much good for Verity or Dad.

Verity pulls Millie into her, an arm around her shoulder in much the same way as Dad had done for her on this same sofa months ago. Millie snuggles into her side, which Verity takes as a good sign.

“A little bit his, a little bit mine,” she says. “I … missing out on you was just an unfortunate side effect.”

“Was it the drinking, then?”

“Mostly, yeah,” says Verity. This is hard: she doesn’t want to scare Millie, doesn’t want to give her a reason to stop talking to Dad, but she wants to be as honest as possible. “A lot of things happened all at once, changing schools in the middle of a year was hard, and it was scary. The drinking was especially scary. But I never said anything to anybody, and I didn’t think anybody else had noticed. And then … he stopped, before you were born.”

“He said that,” says Millie. “He always says that.”

“That he stopped for you?”

“Yeah.”

“That was sort of my problem,” says Verity. “It had scared me for a year or so without anybody noticing, and then he stopped as soon as you were born …” she trails off. It’s an inadequate explanation, but then nothing’s going to be an adequate explanation for a thirteen-year disappearance. “I told you it wouldn’t make me sound good.”

Millie shuffles away from Verity, sits up, looks directly at her. Verity feels a chill in her side.

“And you disappeared?”

Verity shrugs. “I suppose I thought he wouldn’t mind if I disappeared, really. And you were a baby … I think I thought it wouldn’t be forever, but then I could never work out how to come back without making a big deal of it all, so I just sort of pretended that none of it had happened, that I didn’t have a dad at all.” She pauses. It’s funny, really; the lateness of the hour, the sleepover feel of two girls in pyjamas having a chat over hot chocolate, the newness of Millie in her life … she’s never been able to talk about this so candidly. She can’t imagine doing so with _Dad_.

Millie’s still looking at her silently, and Verity can’t decipher the expression on her face.

“I used to feel so guilty whenever I got a birthday card with an essay about how much he loved me with your name scrawled in crayon in the corner.”

“I used to wonder about you all the time,” says Millie. She’s looking away from Verity now, her empty mug balanced on the arm of the sofa, picking the turquoise paint off her thumbnail.

“I’m sorry,” says Verity. It’s funny, how easily it slips out with her little sister, while she and Dad have barely even acknowledged the missing decade in their history, talking around it instead, talking about things they have in common now rather than what happened in their time apart. But it’s important with Millie. “I’m … I should’ve been there. I wish I’d been there. I wish I’d known what I was missing out on.”

They sit in silence for a little while, Verity keeping an eye on her sister, Millie still staring at her fingernails.

“I’m glad you came back,” says Millie eventually, shuffling back to Verity, leaning her head on her sister’s shoulder. Verity puts her arm back around her sister and takes it as acceptance.

“Me, too,” says Verity.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for putting up with me being frustrated with this, gang! and for generally helping me throw all my brain cells into thinking about the extended verity+herclas universe <3
> 
> verity was meant to come out to millie as well at some point but then you know what? they had too much to talk about. maybe next time.


End file.
